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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528808">And the Ground, Taunts my Wings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LealAlchemical/pseuds/LealAlchemical'>LealAlchemical</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wings and Flyte [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Septimus Heap - Angie Sage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:53:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LealAlchemical/pseuds/LealAlchemical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of what happens to Simon (well, his wings) after the events of THM. Warnings for general depressing thoughts, and some mild body horror? Very mild, but still. </p>
<p>(Description is likely to change, Title is from Twenty One Pilots- Isle of Flightless Birds.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucy Gringe/Simon Heap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wings and Flyte [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Broken Wings and Stubborn Pride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>William wasn't quite old enough to fly yet.</p><p> </p><p>He had however begun to shed the soft feathers of early childhood. His wings were strong and healthy, though Simon knew from experience that they must itch something awful. But William would be ten soon, old enough to start practising gliding. Old enough to be taught to fly.</p><p> </p><p>Simon gently combed the feathers on his bad wing, the dark patches from his <b>Darke</b> years were no less visible, but they looked clean and healthy. They shone as they should, with a glimmer of <b>Magyk</b> and the strange golden patterns that had started to occur as he learned alchemy.</p><p> </p><p>"<em> That's normal" Marcellus gestured at his own wings that gleamed as though he had dipped them in gold leaf. Simon wouldn't have been surprised if he had in all honesty. "Some of the </em> <b> <em>Magyk</em> </b> <em> reacts with the alchemical processes surrounding </em> <b> <em>Fyre</em> </b> <em> . I haven't noticed any particular changes beyond this but the longer one continues with alchemy the more there is." </em></p><p> </p><p>It didn't make much sense, but when Simon stopped to consider Marcellus's real age the heavy-handed golden colouring made sense. His own colouration would likely remain recognizable, the idea of immortality didn't really seem that great from what he'd seen. </p><p> </p><p>But no matter what happened to feathers, it didn't change the fact that his left-wing was ruined beyond repair.</p><p> </p><p>Once he began his studies of Physik, Simon understood more about the damage that had affected his wing. Even if he rebroke the bones and allowed them to mend properly, even aided with <b>Darke </b> methods of repairing it there was damage that couldn’t be fixed. Somewhere under the feathers and skin nerves had been severed and damaged It would never be the same. There were prosthetics of course, with even better ones being made all the time. A combination of <b>Magyk</b> , willpower, long since forgotten <b>Charms</b> , and his youngest brother's tendency towards finding long forgotten <b>Magyk</b> (Seriously, what was it with him? At this point it wasn't a skill, it was a habit.) had resulted in ornate replacements that moved and adapted as a true wing would. Those prosthetic wings were a work of art, allowing one to fly as if the wing had been made of flesh and blood.</p><p> </p><p>Those hadn't even really been tested yet, but the idea had been thrown out his direction. An offer to be a test subject before more were made. </p><p> </p><p>He had hated the idea at first for several reasons. First would come amputation. The damage was in several places, part of it was close to his shoulder, meaning amputation would take most of the limb. It would have to heal, the stump would be bandaged but it would be clear what was missing. Despite his lack of ill intent towards Septimus, some part of Simon was almost smug at the fact that he had both wings and they were both whole from a bystander’s viewpoint. It was a stupid point of pride, an old one, and a holdover from when he refused to even consider Septimus as his brother (though he might tentatively say they were friends as well now.).</p><p> </p><p>There was also the idea of having the remainder of his wing measured and prodded and fitted for the new prosthetic. He hadn’t let anyone but Lucy touch his wings beyond glancing brushes or accidents since they had been bound during his imprisonment. The idea of not only having a potential stranger handle his wings, but to be messing around the point of amputation… he had to suppress a shudder.</p><p> </p><p>But Simon missed flying. He had been able to push it down for years now but the beginnings of true feathers making their pointy, itchy way across his son's wings made realize how long it had been and how empty that made him feel. Life began to feel… hollow in it's own way. It wasn't as if he needed them, he had done just fine for years but ultimately beings with wings are meant to touch the sky.</p><p> </p><p><em> Dead weight </em>. That's all that wing was anymore. Something to weigh him down, something that could be replaced. Hell, it had even physically felt heavier, and considering the Lapis in his eye after- nope.</p><p> </p><p> He refused to think about that.</p><p> </p><p>Even with everything practically screaming what he needed to do, he needed to ask someone else.</p><p> </p><p>"Do what you feel is right. I'm a decent enough flyer I can teach William if you can't. But if you want to be involved, you should go ahead and do it. Get it over within time to fly with him." </p><p> </p><p>Lucy looked him in the eye, turning away from her most recent project. "But if you want to and you don't? Well, I think you'd always look back and wish you had."</p><p> </p><p>Simon held her close and resisted tearing up. When he failed at that, he choked back sobs. He'd made his choice, he'd pretty much made it before talking to her but he needed at least one person to hear him out.</p><p> </p><p> Lucy's wings had always been sturdy, and as she held him they wrapped around the two of them, the soft muffling quality bringing the couple into a silent cocoon as years of pent up emotions over the loss finally worked their way up to the surface. Shame, rage, and no small amount of anxiety finally found the cracks in his armour and welled out into the open for the first time. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn't sure when they went to sleep but he woke with Lucy beside him, one her wing relaxed against the bed and the other was still gently extended towards him as she lay on her side. She was fast asleep, not even stirring as Simon nestled in closer before drifting back off to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Both, however, very much stirred when a crash resounded through the house from the direction of the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Most of the time they managed to be up and sentient by the time William was, but their son had the habit of attempting to cook breakfast if his parents weren't out of bed yet. He did try his best to be quiet and tidy, but he had a talent of knocking things out of cupboards and burning various foodstuffs. Leading to the current response of Simon bolting out of bed to try and minimize damage while Lucy stumbled after him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's a bit short but I felt this was a good place to end it????</p>
<p>I dunno, I was sick of looking at it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Simon woke up and blinked blearily. It was bright, a bit too bright in all honesty but as he scrabbled with his fingers to find the covers he’d usually pull over his head his hands brushed against nothing but plain cotton sheets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next thing that he noticed, the thoughts slowly waking him up, was that he was sleeping on his stomach and his back felt… lighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fully awake (or at least by his standards), Simon began to struggle into a roughly upright sitting position despite the feeling of being somehow off-balance. Someone’s hands tried to gently keep him from getting up but then switched to helping to keep him from swaying to far from either side. Someone’s voice was telling him, “Fine, be that way. Just try and breathe for me, very good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The full realization of what the unbalanced, missing something sensation was stemming from slowly crept into his thoughts like the crystallizing of frost. He very slowly turned his head to the bandaged stump where his ruined wing used to be and looked away very fast. It didn’t really hurt, or at least it didn’t hurt at the time being. It wasn’t pain that made his head spin and vision darken in a nauseating, silent cacophony.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Over time the lightheadedness faded whenever he did his best to help change bandages and apply the ointments that would keep the row of neat stitches free from infection. It healed well, but the effects of the sudden imbalance was maddening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d stretch his good wing out to the side to correct his balance, a common habit, but the lack of weight on the other side would cause him to stumble. He also found himself sticking his remaining wing out further when using it to balance, an overcorrection that did little to help and actually seemed to make it worse. He’d started to grow accustomed however and life picked back up swiftly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon also began to realize why Marcia’s clothes had changed after the forced amputation of her own wing. He himself began to adopt the style of keeping his cloak draped over one shoulder and although his outfits were admittedly simpler than Marcia’s (who had maintained her own personal style even after handing the position of ExtraOrdinary Wizard off to Septimus) he still found little ways to try and adjust to lack of a wing on one side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not permanent </span>
  </em>
  <span>Simon told himself often as he fussed with the vaguely unnerving portion of his wing that had been left behind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just until it heals a little bit more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The healer gently moved and manipulated the remnants of his wing, their hands were cold and although there was no longer that deep pain whenever it was touched there was still an underlying feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> that accompanied every sensation regarding it. He closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore it. The faster he let them do their job and tell him what he already knew the faster he’d be working with Septimus on the new prosthetic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All his brother, Septimus, had said was that it would work. Which was maybe one of the most aggravating things about the process and had resulted in Simon showing up at the top of the Wizard Tower whenever was convenient for him. Septimus had rapidly learned this was rarely ever convenient for him and was also readily awaiting the day his brother got the all clear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the healer had finished, and (Simon hadn’t really been paying great attention, so the details were a bit of a blur) handed him a signed note stating he had finished healing, though the new scar tissue would still be a tad sensitive. He had known this when he walked in, but had known his youngest brother was not terribly likely to accept his word on it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Some part of him, the ever so slightly nasty side of him, considered whether or not he could pull off a transport into the middle of Septimus’s rooms. He decided against it, he didn’t even know if his brother would be there and it wasn’t worth the risk of a blind transport just to see if he could startle his baby brother (who had been deemed as such by several of the Heap siblings, despite Septimus being an adult and the ExtraOrdinary wizard.). So, Simon took the slow way, but he took it at a swift pace. Winding through little known shortcuts and alleys until he found himself staring up at the door to the Tower. The </span>
  <b>Sprites</b>
  <span> hovered around it, borderline invisible in the daylight, a window flickered in (and promptly out) of existence, and the smell of incense and </span>
  <b>Magyk </b>
  <span>drifted low in the courtyard. The fair weather had encouraged some of the apprentices and their tutors outside to practice for a time, and in the mix, he spotted Tod as she concentrated on a book. The ExtraOrdinary wizard, however, was not seen amongst the courtyard crowd and was likely digging around in the library. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least, with any luck, that’s what he’d be doing. It was never impossible that Simon’s youngest brother had disappeared into some ancient path, forgotten ruin, time-travelling mirror, or otherwise unlikely place. Septimus had a certain knack for ending up in strange situations but then again all the Heaps had that particular knack, their friends and adopted family included.</span>
</p>
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